The Beach House

by Jolie Campbell

  “I’m sure you’re just imagining it, Quinn.”

  “Em, please,” he said, bending slightly to catch my eyes again. “Is something going on? I’m here for two months, maybe longer. If I’m doing something to put people off, I want to know. I need you to be honest with me.”

  “No, Quinn. Not at all. You seem really… nice.”

  He crossed his arms and looked at me expectantly.

  “But?”

  I took a deep breath. “We were told… uh,” I stopped.

  “What? You were told what? Please, Em. I need to know.”

  I took a deep breath. “To leave you alone. No fraternizing. We’re supposed to meet your needs, learn to anticipate them, and be nice always, but not overly familiar.”

  His eyes widened. “Who told you that?”

  Now his voice wasn't so quiet. I grabbed a towel and busied myself drying the already-dry dishes on the dish rack.

  “Em. Who. Told You. That?”

  “Quinn, look. You seem angry and I-”

  He scrubbed his hand over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m a little angry, but not at you. I won’t involve you in this at all. But I want to know exactly what you were told, and by who.”

  Well, you’re in it now, Emmy.

  “Be- before you arrived, Elaine told us that your agent and the owners of the inn, Dennis and Lauren, had arranged your stay here. That’s very unusual. Usually the owners are not involved in the day-to-day stuff around here. Part of the deal is that we, the staff, were supposed to leave you alone, as I said.”

  I looked away again.

  “And if you didn’t?” He spoke more softly again, but he was clearly still upset.

  “Anyone who didn’t pay attention, anyone who got too familiar, would be fired.”

  He was silent. Finally, I had to look up at him again. He was shaking his head.

  “Fuck,” he bit out.

  “Quinn, I-”

  I should have kept my stupid mouth shut.

  He smiled ruefully at me. “Em, thank you. I’m really glad you told me this. I promise, I will leave your name out of it. This is a big help.”

  We stood there awkwardly for a second.

  They’re going to know I told him. I am so screwed.

  Quinn took a step toward me, bent down and kissed my cheek.

  “Thanks, really.”

  He stalked out.

  I didn't see Quinn at all for a few days after that. Though I never would have admitted it to anyone, I missed him, even his silly teasing, and I hoped what I told him wouldn’t get anyone in trouble.

  Get a grip, Emmy.

  I should not be missing him, or even thinking about him when he isn’t around.

  That kiss on the cheek meant absolutely nothing. Stop obsessing about it. He's a toucher, he's like that with everyone.

  Gorgeous starlet girlfriend, I reminded myself. And he can have anyone in the world. And talking to him beyond taking food orders can get you fired, a rule you’ve already violated. Just stop.

  Still, after three days, curiosity got the best of me.

  “Elaine, do you know when Quinn is coming back?” I asked, trying to sound completely matter-of-fact. She had just come into the kitchen to grab her cell, which was charging on the counter.

  She glared at me.

  “I- I’m just asking because I’m going grocery shopping and I need to know if I should-”

  "He's out of the country for a few days,” she sighed, her face relaxing. “I'm sorry, I should have let you know. I understand you've been very good about accommodating some special requests he's had. Thank you, Emmy. You've been setting a good example for the others, and they all look up to you."

  I flushed with pleasure and relief from Elaine’s compliment. When she was nice, and pleased with me, it made me so happy. Plus, it seemed that Quinn had kept his promise to leave me out of whatever he was going to do about the staff. At least, for now.

  "Oh, I'm glad, thanks Elaine."

  "So, Emmy, can you do a few overnights for me next week? Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday? Then you'll get Sunday and Monday off."

  "Sure, I'll be happy to. Going up to Seattle?"

  "Thank you. Yes, it's my mother's birthday. She's too out of it to remember, but my brother and I are going to bring her a cake and sing ‘Happy Birthday’ anyway."

  "That's nice of you. You're a good daughter. In her way I'm sure she appreciates it."

  "Good of you to say so," she replied with a wan smile. "Thanks for doing the overnights, Emmy. What would I do without you?"

  At around 10 on Tuesday night I was sitting in the kitchen, sipping a glass of red wine and making a grocery list. The inn was quiet. The staff was long gone for the day. Most of the guests had checked out. Martin and Dan had come into the kitchen and said goodnight and disappeared into their room an hour ago, and I assumed Mr. Matthews had gone to bed as well.

  I loved the inn like this. Though it was fun having a houseful of guests, which we would again come Thursday, on the odd night I stayed over and we weren’t busy, I relished being there and enjoying a slower pace. Some places just have a good feeling to them, and the Beach House was one of them. Apart from Elaine’s unpredictability, the inn had a warmth to it, what my mother would call good vibes. It was part of the reason why I loved working there.

  I was singing along softly with “If You Want Me to Stay” by Sly and the Family Stone playing on Pandora, tapping a pencil against my temple, when Quinn appeared in the doorway.

  "Hey," he said, offering a friendly smile. He was in a much better mood than the last time I’d seen him. "Again with the cool old music. Am I bugging you?"

  My heart kicked up a few beats and I smiled back, trying to seem cool and collected.

  Chill, Emmy.

  "Not at all. Welcome back. This isn't old music. This is Sly, it's timeless."

  "Oh, sorry Casey Kasem," he joked, rolling his eyes.

  I laughed. "How are you? Can I get you anything?"

  His smile widened as he moved a little closer to where I was sitting, on a stool at the island. "Thanks. Got any more of that?" He pointed to my glass.

  I started to get up. "Sure, let me get you some."

  He put his warm hand on my shoulder to gently nudge me back down.

  "Please, sit. Just tell me where. I'll get it."

  "No, it's no trouble. I-"

  "Em, Jesus. You don't have to wait on me," he snapped.

  Surprised, I was silent for a few beats.

  "Over there, glasses are in there," I pointed to the antique cabinet. "Bottle's by the sink."

  He poured, came over to top off my glass, and then sat on the stool next to mine.

  "I'm sorry,” he said, shaking his head. “I didn't mean that. I'm not an asshole, really."

  I shrugged.

  He took a deep breath. "This is going to sound stupid, but I just like to do things for myself. People are always jumping up to get me something or offering to go out of their way for me, and I'm just not that guy. I never got used to it.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I remained quiet.

  “Ugh, you're probably thinking I'm a total douche for complaining about people waiting on me,” he grimaced. “I don't mean to complain, I really don't. It's just- I never know when people are being real with me or just kissing my ass. I miss knowing where I stand with people.”

  I gave him what I hoped was a sympathetic look. He smiled back, his brow knitted, as though he was studying me.

  “I don't know what it is about you, Em. I feel like you're being yourself with me. It meant a lot to me that you were honest with me the other day. Does any of this make any sense at all, or am I just babbling?"

  He took a sip of wine. "Oh, that's good, what is it?"

  I smiled. "It's Trapiche Malbec, one of my favorites. I wouldn't normally drink on the job, but I'm doing the overnights for a few days, covering for Elaine."

  "No wonder you didn't kick me out of here. Elaine's gone," he said
. "At some point you’re going to have to give me the download on her. So wait—this is your wine? Aside from distracting you from work, I'm also bogarting your booze?"

  I laughed. "I need a distraction from work. You're welcome to the wine; it's meant to be shared. And that's not me kissing your ass. It's just really nice to see you again since you've been away."

  Uh oh.

  My face heated as I looked away. His silence told me I had embarrassed him and myself. Perfect.

  But after I took a big sip of wine and got the nerve to look up, he was staring at me. "Thanks Em. I really appreciate that."

  He held my gaze, and my heart thump-thump-thumped in my chest even harder. I swallowed.

  "You must have friends, people you trust, who don't kiss your ass. Don't you?"

  He shrugged. "Yeah, I guess so. But-"

  "Hidey-ho there, Miss Emmy," came the voice of Mr. Matthews as he entered the kitchen. "Got a treat for your favorite guest?"

  "I thought that was me," Quinn said, standing up. "Would you like a seat, sir?"

  He’s polite and considerate, too? Now I really want to hug him. Or jump him. Or both.

  I am pathetic.

  "Oh, well hey, what do you know?" Mr. Matthews practically shouted. "You're that movie actor, aren't you? You're a fine young man. Really enjoy your pictures. Are you staying here, or are you our Emmy's new boyfriend?"

  "Mr. Matthews, Quinn is a guest here, you know that," I shouted, now blushing so hard there was no way I could even glance at Quinn. "Now, what would you like for a snack? I made some special things just for you."

  Quinn ended up chatting in the living room with Mr. Matthews, and I finished my list, got the last of the nighttime chores done and went down to the little basement room. There was a text from my mother.

  Hi buttercup! Where are you? Stopped by but no Emmy. Call when you have a sec.

  I got comfortable, turned the TV on and the sound off and then called my mom.

  Leona Reid had been a young mom, and single after my father left when I was 3. He showed up once or twice a year until I was 12 and then basically disappeared for good, though I always got a card on my birthday and on Easter, which had been my favorite holiday as a kid. The cards were nice, but I would have been happier if he had helped my mom out financially. He never did.

  He had been bad news for her from the start. Breaking promises was the only way he could be counted on to be consistent. When he married my mother he convinced her to drop out of law school so they could use the tuition money to help him start an import business, something to do with textiles, though it was never completely clear what it was. The business was sort of up and down for a while, but it finally went bust, sinking them both into debt. Then he basically took off and left her to clean up the mess and raise me. He promised he’d help pay for me, but she didn’t get anything from him in writing, so she never got more than a stray check for $50 here and there.

  It had been a real struggle for Mom. She's very smart, but she's painfully shy and has never been assertive enough to get ahead. I’ve always wondered if finishing law school would have given her more confidence. We ended up living right on the edge, paycheck to paycheck. Mom always had a job and worked incredibly hard, but nothing she did paid much. She dated a lot but never remarried, just gave her heart and often what little money or resources we had to men who said they loved her but rarely did a thing for her and didn't last long in our lives. So mostly it was just her and me, doing the best we could.

  "Hi Mom. How are you?"

  "Hi sweetie," she said in her raspy whisper. I always envied her distinctive deep, scratchy voice. "I'm doing well. How are you? Where are you?"

  "I'm at the Beach House, doing some overnights for Elaine."

  "Oh good! She pays you for that, right?"

  "A bit, yeah. Shari keeps saying it isn't enough and I'm letting Elaine take advantage of me."

  "Well, I guess Shari doesn't need her job," Mom sniffed. "You're making yourself indispensable to Elaine, that's great. I'm proud of you, buttercup."

  "Thanks Mom.”

  “How’s Erica doing?” My mom and my best friend since middle school adored each other. “I haven’t seen her for ages.”

  “She’s good. Her business is going really well.” Erica had taken over her mother's jewelry store two years ago, started seeking out really unusual work from local artists and made it into a high-end, trendy shopping destination. She’d even been mentioned in a couple of magazines. “We’ll all have to grab dinner one night soon.”

  “That sounds great,” she mumbled, sounding a little distracted.

  “What's new with you, Mom? Everything OK?"

  It was silent for a few seconds, then I heard her struggle to hold back a sob.

  "Mom! What is it? Are you OK?"

  "I'm OK. I'm- I'm sorry, sweetie. I don't want to burden you with my troubles. This isn't why I called you." She sniffled.

  "I know, Mom. You're not a burden. Tell me what's wrong."

  "It's just work. Peter promised me that I would get a raise after the last project finished, but now we're on the next one and he hadn't said anything. So I asked him about it. It took me all day to work up the nerve, and then–"

  She paused. I already knew where this was headed and I could feel the rage building up inside me.

  "I'm proud of you for asking, Mom. What did he say?"

  "He-" she paused to sob. "He said it was a bad time, and how could I even ask now, and that I might not even have a job pretty soon if I couldn't be a team player."

  "You asked for the raise you were promised and he threatened your job? Mom, that's ridiculous!"

  "No, no, he's right. He's under so much pressure, it was selfish of me to ask when I did. And I wouldn't have, but- well, I just needed to."

  "Mom, it wasn't selfish. And his problems are his business. He promised you a raise, he should honor his word. Do you have an email from him where he confirms it?"

  "No, I didn't want to ask for it in writing because he'd think I don't trust him."

  "Mom! Maybe you shouldn't trust him. Has he ever kept his word?"

  "Of course! I'm not stupid, you know. I took care of myself very well for a long time before you came around." Now she sounded angry.

  I knew her well enough to know there was only so far that I could push her before she dug in her heels, so I softened my tone. "I know that, Mom. I don't think you're stupid. Just the opposite. I just want to make sure you're given what you've earned."

  She sighed. "I know that, buttercup. That's what I want, too, but I can't lose this job. What would I do? Who's going to hire your old mom?"

  "You're not old!"

  "Sweetie, be realistic. I'm pushing 60. Not exactly anyone's first choice for an employee. And really, I wouldn't worry, except that I really need to keep up paying off some debt."

  "I can help out a bit more every month, Mom. Let me. It will take some of the pressure off you. I have some saved," I offered. I had started paying a few hundred dollars a month toward her rent a couple of years ago when she got into a bind, and had just never stopped.

  "Emmeline, no," she insisted. I knew she was serious because she used my full name. She almost never did that. "Thank you. You’re already helping me, and I shouldn’t even take that from you. I wouldn’t dream of touching your savings. Maybe you'll go to culinary school, like you've been dreaming of. Or maybe you'll buy a house. Whatever you do, you'll need money. And it's best to have your own, not rely on some guy who promises he’ll provide it for you."

  Like you did.

  "That's what I did," she continued, seeming to read my mind. "And look where it got me."

  CHAPTER 7

  Early Wednesday morning I was coming out of the Beach House for a run when I saw Quinn on the porch. Seeing him was a real surprise. It wasn’t quite 6:30, and usually he didn’t appear until later in the morning. I was about to turn and try to go back through the inn so I could sneak out the back door, but he caught m
e and waved.

  "Hey there," he said, grinning at me. "Are you heading out?"

  "Oh hi, yeah," I said.

  "Me too," he replied. No kidding. How could I miss what he looked like in his running shorts and tank? His long legs were just like the rest of him, lean but strong, perfectly defined. As he stretched, the muscles in his quads and arms flexed, and I caught a glimpse of a few freckles on his shoulders. A baseball cap covering his hair made him look so young, almost like a teenager, especially when he flashed me that mischievous half grin.

  "Can I go with you?" he asked, almost shyly. "How far are you planning to go?"

  With you? All the way.

  Emmy, you are a moron.

  "Uh, sure. I was planning to go about two and a half miles out, then back," I nodded in the direction I was planning to go.

  "Five miles! Nice. Is that the best way to go?" He pointed in the same direction.

  "You really can't go wrong either way. That way," I pointed forward, "you run in the sand for about a mile, but it’s pretty packed down. The other way there's no sand, but you climb a big hill."

  "Ugh, I hate hills. I've driven that way, that hill is crazy. I can't believe you run up that thing."

  I shrugged. "It's sort of perverse, but I like the hills. And there's a great view from the top of that one."

  I couldn't seem to stop shifting my weight from one foot to the other. Could he tell how nervous I was?

  His smile widened. “So, you’re perverse, and a runner, and a cook. I am liking you more and more, Em.”

  I felt my face go hot, but tried to cover up my easy embarrassment with fake bravado.

  “Ha ha,” I said, giving him a wry look, as if to say that I knew he was full of crap.

  After a slight pause, I sighed. “OK then, I’m going to take off. Have a good one,” I started to walk off, but he caught my arm.

  “Hey, so can I go with you? Anything would be better than running by myself.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “Shit. That sounded terrible,” he said, touching his forehead and shaking his head. “That is not what I meant at all.”